


Escapism (a tough art to master)

by Chalalalalala



Category: Escape the Night (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gore, Rituals, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chalalalalala/pseuds/Chalalalalala
Summary: The ritual takes a darker turn as they try to escape. It turns out that the death, no matter what they want to believe, isn’t over yet...An Escape the Night oneshot.
Relationships: Joey Graceffa & Everyone, The Big Game Hunter | Oli White & The Journalist | Eva Gutowski, The ExorSix platonically
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Escapism (a tough art to master)

**Author's Note:**

> I always write between 10pm and 1am, so I’ve gotta thank Tea for being my beta reader! They were such a great help!
> 
> Also this is dark.

The ritual to defeat the evil. Their goal throughout this entire nightmare, the very goal that had killed four of their friends. It was finally time to complete it.

The group met in the lounge, their eyes rimmed red and darkened with relief. They’d needed the break: this house had taken so much out of them, and to spend a mere ten minutes together, without the threat of death, had been more useful than they’d have thought before. Eva and Oli stood close together, the latter’s brown, tufty hair still damp from his brush with death the hour before. All of the others all separated themselves into worried isolation, thinking of those they’d left behind, and those they were waiting for. It was as though their friends’ ghosts haunted them, showing them the disappointment of their families, the pain on the face of Matt’s girlfriend as he told her her sister was dead, murdered by the group. On Brittany’s when she finds out her twin had been deemed useless, for no reason whatsoever. The public’s replies when their favourite star returns in a coffin.

Joey swallowed the lump in his throat, turning to where Arthur stood impassively by the exit to the room. The numb voice that asked the butler if he had the ritual made them all flinch, a laugh tearing its way out of their fractured souls and some of the tension withdrew from the air around them and leaving the group in some semblance of calm. He nodded, passing it wordlessly over to Oli, the others gathering around him in a loose circle. His voice shaking like a leaf, the Brit read it through. 

“In order to bind the demonic energy trapping this house in time, a ring of sand must be made around a table in the middle of the room the ritual is taking place in. The four artifacts, gained through loss of life, must be positioned at each corner of said table. Then the chosen-” his voice cut off abruptly, his face, as white as Lele’s silk gloves, crumpling further . Sierra put a hand on his shaking arm.

“Oli? What is it?” she pried nervously, looking up at his shell shocked features. Oli lifted his downcast eyes to face the group, his voice a horrified whisper.

“It says we need a sacrifice. One of us.” 

Silence. A deafening, absolute silence fell over each of the seven as they took in just what this meant. This wasn’t over yet. They didn’t just get to go home and process and heal.

Another one had to die.

A strangled sigh came from Tim, the first to speak. “Tell me this is a joke, Oli,” he begged, before turning to Arthur, desperate frustration clouding his eyes. “Tell me this is all your sick idea of a fucking joke, and you’ve just given us the wrong ritual, and-” A piece of paper rustled into his hand, and Tim ignored the butler’s god-awful smirk to read what he was in denial about.

_ -Then, the chosen sacrifice from among the group must be tied down to said table. Each of those remaining who wish to leave must plunge a knife into the body of their sacrifice, chanting these words:- _

Tim didn’t even bother to read the rest, the gravity of this situation sending him tumbling into the upholstered armchair behind him. His hands kneaded at his temples, the entire body trembling as Matt moved to stand beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. This had been an unwelcome realisation to the poor mobster, who had a constant internal monologue telling him how he was a murderer, how much more he deserved to suffocate in that coffin than Justine. Here he was, again. Killing, again.

Lele, ever to the point, was the first one to ask, fiddling with the iridescent pearls around her neck. “So….. who are we killing? Because I have-”

“No way, bitch. If anything, it should be-”

“Me? Oh really now? Because clearly you’re the one-”

Sierra glared at the two of them, and they shut their mouths, Matt raising his hands in innocent protest. A look of fear laced their annoyance, the two glaring at each other shakily. The contrasting blues and browns of their eyes shone as if to beg  _ please. Not now. Not like this. _

Silence rang its deadly chords yet again as the group felt the Grim Reaper grow closer to them with every passing second, dawn mere hours away. Seconds stretched into what felt like eternity as seven pairs of terrified pupils flitted towards each other, each wondering the same thing, the same god-awful, gut-wrenching thing:

**Who do we kill? Which of my allies do I have the heart to stab with my own free will?**

The next voice to speak was soft and hesitant, the foreign tone adding a soft sense of solemnity as he sighed.

“I think……. I think I know who I’d choose.”

Gasps of “Oli...” and “What?!” echoed across the carpet, the group shrinking away from him in shock. Standing at six foot tall, the thought that the seemingly friendly giant of a man had made up his mind sent them to dimmer places than their minds had thought possible, where he snatched them from the ground with ease, raising the knife-

The man raised a shaky hand, sweat running down his forehead with his eyes glazed over in remorse. “Please, guys, please…… will you just…. let me explain? I have... reasons, and I swear to you guys I’m thinking this through and-”

Eva, with a strangely soft look on her face, put a gentle hand on his tensed arm. “Oli. We all know you've thought this through. Just tell us what- who you have in mind.” she shudders, a cold breeze of dread gracing her spine. The taller man nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Right…… you guys, you’re all bloody amazing people. If I was any other person, I’d ask you to kill me,” he laughed grimly, “but I’m too much of a coward to do that.”

“Anyways, it might sound twisted and awful and practically evil after what we’ve been through tonight, but we wouldn’t have gone through it all if we hadn’t been invited here. Plus, he sent me into a challenge with no provocation, and has generally been really flipping shady the entire time we’ve been doing this, like GloZell pointed out. Before she was killed. So….. shit, Joey I’m so sorry that sounded so sick, but…. that’s what I think.” 

Joey’s eyes widened, staring Oli down with a look bubbling with betrayal and hurt. The younger man, his head now bowed, had seemed so passive, so reliable throughout the game, and that had come crashing down in a single explanation. A little piece of his heart shattered at that moment, reflecting in his broken eyes. This entire situation was sick. Each of the others shrank away in relief and simultaneous shock. All eyes turned to where Joey stood like a heavily breathing statue, a hysterical smile spreading across his trembling lips.

“You can’t be serious.” 

No replies left the other man’s lips bar a sigh of anguish, a hand running desperately through his hair to try and find an escape route, something to hold onto in this sea of horrifying certainty, unable to watch as the Savant turned to the others in conflict. “Guys, you don’t believe this, right? It’s me, your friend,  _ Joey.  _ You wouldn’t actually-”

His voice broke as he saw their faces, full of the type of dismay and doubt he could feel swirling in his own gut, the dual terror for their own lives and those of the rest of the group. Of their friends, allies through all of the torture in this night so far.

Arthur roused himself from his silent, amused vigilance against the wall, a small smirk forcefully erased from his mouth as he addressed the group. “If we are struggling to come to a consensus, then perhaps we could take a-”

_ “No.” _

Five shaking voices, some wet with tears, rang out in equal defiance of his suggestion, salvaging whatever was left of their resolve in a few shared glances. Oli flinched at the sudden clamour of denial, Joey shuddering in pure dread. Matt was the one who turned haltingly on his heels, moving to stare the owner of the house down in that same, awful, dead way Oli had.

“We’ve made our decision.”

That was the moment Joey crumpled to the floor, the certainty of his demise knocking him into faint darkness. A thick blanket of guilt fell over his resting body, the others staring at his form. It was a small consolation that his screams weren’t going to pierce their ears as they prepared to kill him in cold blood. Sierra sniffled, wiping a straying, glistening bead from her face to pave the way for the river she knew was coming in the next hour. Raising her head, she looked towards the ritual. “Let’s get this done, guys. Let’s go home.” 

The others nodded melancholy agreement. With that, Oli and Tim grabbed the table from the other room, the others moving frantically to get the chairs to the side. Valuing furniture over the life of their friend. 

Matt slipped away to the kitchen, ignoring the stiffened bodies of Shane and GloZell as he rummaged through the drawers, looking for six knives and praying he could, even though he’d never admit it to their faces, save the group the extra guilt of seeing those they’d already lost again. Half a dozen blades on the wall evoked a small “There!” from his dry mouth. He made sure to adjust the sheet over them to cover them both entirely as he took the weapons out to the ballroom, one last glance of farewell sent in their deceased direction.

When he got there, Eva was working diligently on tying Joey’s hands, looking up for a moment to return a watery imitation of a smile. To her, it felt like none of this was real. It was just another crazy, lucid dream she’d wake up from. It felt dreamlike, but the knowledge it was real smashed through the fantasy, crushing her soul. These knots felt like they were the only thing tying her down to the present, and once they were done, she felt herself floating off again. Lele put a hand on her arm, her concern cutting through the dream like a blade. 

“Eva? You with me?” a soft voice murmurs, the accent to her words bringing the Journalist back to the present with a shiver. “Yeah. I’m…. here.”

“Good, because once Timothy comes back with the sand, it’s time.”

Those words, in that context, sent the whole group spiralling into fear, shaky glances exchanged. There was going to be blood on their hands, and unlike Justine, this time this was their decision. Matt left their tools heaped on the table, before moving to sit beside a motionless, pondering Oli. The only words on his tongue leapt from his mouth, in a simple “Thanks, man,” that startled the other conspirator out of whatever pothole of guilt he’d fallen into. Oli looked at him confusedly.

“What?”

“....Thank you. For not putting me up for…. That,” he offered him a grim smile. “I know I voted you in, which was the worst mistake ever, but-”

“-but you were just trying to make up with her,” Oli nodded to Lele, “I understand, mate. I… I’ll admit, your name crossed my mind, but I remembered how much you’ve done for the group.” He placed a gentle hand on the man’s shaky shoulder. “You’re a great bloke Matt. A great bloke who doesn’t deserve that.” They shared smiles, a moment broken by an out of breath Timothy stumbling through the door, pushing a wheelbarrow with an exaggerated sigh. He was met with twitching mouths as he wordlessly presented the sand, collapsing onto a chair to catch his breath. The others scurried around him like ants, Oli and Matt immediately catching the wheelbarrow and moving it over to the ritual. Lele yelled instructions at them as Sierra and Eva ran quietly over the chant for the ritual with Tim. The six of them, finally, were working as a well-oiled team.

It was sick that this was what it had taken to do that.

The sand was laid out in a more complex version of the earlier hour’s seance, with the table in the middle sticking out like a sore thumb. Joey lay there, eyes shut as he registered the strange pressure on his wrists and ankles, the hard, unforgiving bed beneath him making him groan as his eyes opened-

-to see the others standing beside him, reading over the very same piece of paper that had condemned him. The fear of what was about to happen punched him in the gut, forcing out a whimper of terror. All six looked up immediately, a grave look of guilt spread across them like a blanket. Sierra stared at him in pity. “Is there anything we could use to, like, shut him up? I think if we leave him to talk, we might, y’know…”

Tim nodded, loosening his tie. “Sorry to disappoint you guys,” he forced out with a fake smile, making the others’ lips twitch, “but I think this’ll do the trick.” Approaching Joey, he choked out an “I’m sorry, man,” as he used it to gag Joey despite the tied down man’s begging for him not to. The shortest man turned to the others, voice husky and head hung low.

“We’re ready.”

Joey’s muffled words morphed into dreadful screams of terror as the six produced knives from the table behind them, gazing down at him with a mixture of pain, sadness, guilt and faint glimmers of a sick and twisted hope. What he couldn’t see in his panic were their sweating faces and shaking hands, stomachs twisting as they read the chant through one last time. With a shared look of grave determination and threat, begging each other not to mess up, the six positioned themselves so they were unable to hurt one another. Lele ended up above Joey’s head, her tears mingling with his on his face as she counted down, her voice breaking when she hit “one,”, just in time for the others to chime in and create a mournful choir:

_ “Oh Cursed God, he who controls all wickedness, _

_ Rid us forever of this plague surrounding us _

_ And grant us your blessing, now and forever. _

_ Praise be to you in your twisted glory as we offer you this sacrifice.” _

A beat.

All of a sudden, half a dozen knives dropped in their wielders’ hands, plunging themselves deep into Joey. The owners cringed as so much pain coursed through Joey that a strange numbness overtook him, wrenching screams from a body that no longer felt his own. He watched himself fall limp with the trembling murderers he used to call his friends.

-=+=-

It was when the screams had ceased that the blood began.

Just as they began to relax, huge sanguine geysers tumbled from the six wounds, showering them all in their victim’s gore. The women screamed, Sierra’s gorgeous white dress staining a deadly crimson as the men yelled, trying to find the exit. Everything Joey owned in the ballroom was painted red, even the doors everyone was stumbling around to find. Eventually, Lele fell into one, collapsing onto the floor outside with a squeak. Compared to what else she’d forced herself through today, tumbling onto her knees on a patio being sprayed by ungodly amounts of blood seemed nothing. She shouted herself hoarse, wiping her eyes clean so she could guide her friends out too, watching as the blood just kept coming behind each of them as they came to sit beside her on the grass.

Whatever they were all drenched in, it wasn’t Joey’s. At least, not just his. There was far too much to belong to one man.

Shaky sobs shivered amongst the group as they took in the sight, tears clearing a small path of humanity down their cheeks. As the spurts began to subside, sense returned to them, the six focused on real life. The first words to be said amongst them was a small, stuttery “We should get cleaned off,” the speaker not really important to their fixing minds. Sierra shook her head. “That can be done when we, like, get the heck outta here.”

A small noise of approval ricocheted between them as they all stood, taking one last look at the house holding the corpses of their five friends, bathed in one’s blood, and one by one they walked away. Away from the stress, anger, whatever had motivated them to do what they did, and leaving only the guilt that they did it.

-=+=-

There was a car outside of the house, labelled with the Society Against Evil symbol. In this car waited an agent, expecting to be there the entire night as they were on standby to pick up the survivors.

What they weren’t expecting wasfor six, twice the amount they were waiting for, six people to turn the corner on the drive, all coloured crimson.

They were confused by the colours. Weren’t all the guests given-

Oh.  _ Oh. _

The agent shuddered as they grew nearer, it becoming painfully apparent that this colouring was in fact dripping off of them. This shouldn’t have happened! The entire situation had never been detailed to be messy, and a lump of indignance grew in the agent’s throat. However, they immediately shook it away as the six figures opened the gate, standing before them with twelve broken, afraid eyes. They cleared their throat.

“Jordan Williams, Society Against Evil. I’m….. here to take you home.”

A comforting glimmer of feeling appeared in some of their eyes at the mention of home, giving the poor agent some kind of solace. “Sorry if the car’s cramped,” they apologised sheepishly, “I wasn’t… well, briefed I’d have this many passengers.”

A soft chuckle hummed amongst them, and suddenly they didn’t find the crimson people as scary anymore. They opened the passenger and back doors with a flourish, watching as the group almost seemed to work without words, the tallest boy sitting in the front with the tallest girl in his lap, while the others squished into the back. Had they not have just been through what they’d been through, Jordan would’ve found this unnerving. However, they thought as they reached for a half of a heart pendant around their neck, the people who survived this together stuck together.

Hopefully, whatever they’ve been through tonight, these will too.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you want- they always make my day!


End file.
